


Poly Problems

by BM Vagaybond (MintSharpie)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, Multi, OT7, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSharpie/pseuds/BM%20Vagaybond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're great together, but people don't understand their needs.</p><p>There's not nearly enough FAHC OT7 stuff, so here's a start. General adorableness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poly Problems

To say that the sales team was confused would be putting it very, very mildly. Never before had they been faced with this many customers at once, let alone ones with this kind of reputation.

Lindsay sighed. “Look, I don’t see what’s so hard about this.”

“We’re sorry, ma- si- uh, folks. A mattress of that size literally does not exist.”

 Michael rubbed his forehead in annoyance. “So cut out a fucking chunk of memory foam and sling a cover on it, how can that be an issue?”

Geoff put a restraining hand on his shoulder before the infamous Jones temper manifested itself. “Let’s call it a custom order. Who do we talk to for that to happen?”

“You… you’d have to talk to the production house,” stammered one of the staff. “I can get you their number if you want?”

“You do that,” Ryan said, inspecting a quilt-top model. Somehow the casual affirmation was utterly chilling.

Jack, the most patient, made the call on their way back to their apartment. She waded through menu options until she connected to a real person, then had to be transferred about forty million times until she reached somebody who had any power to fulfill the crew’s request. They’d been home for fifteen minutes before she could actually explain what they wanted.

“That’s right, twenty feet… Yes, I’m sure… I don’t care how much it costs!”

Ray lay on the couch, sprawled across Michael, Ryan, and Gavin and flipping through the channels on their TV. “Tell ‘em who they’re doing it for and what we’ll do to ‘em. Carrot and stick.”

“They can’t make it for us if they’re dead, X-Ray,” Gavin said, playing with the hem of the sniper’s shirt. He quickly tired of that and slipped his slim fingers underneath the fabric instead.

“Jesus, that’s cold!” Ray yelped, jumping at the touch. Ryan grabbed him to keep him from falling.

“Don’t be a little bitch, Ray,” chuckled Lindsay, leaning over the back of the couch to drape her arms across Michael’s chest.

“ _You_ feel his hands, then!”

Geoff looked up from his drink, annoyed. “Shut up, assholes, Jack’s still on the phone!”

“… as soon as possible. Yes. You have my number? …Good. Don’t fuck this up.” She ended the call, put her phone down, and fisted her hands in her hair. “ _Graaahhh_. Why is this so difficult for people to understand?”

“Shh, love, c’mere,” soothed Gavin, awkwardly leaning backwards to make grabby hands at her. “If they get it wrong we’ll just shoot their knobs off, that’s all.”

Jack sighed and went to sit cross-legged in front of the couch, tipping her head back to rest tiredly against Ryan’s knees. The assassin reached over Ray to card his fingers through her hair.

“Should we start thinking about dinner?” he asked. “By the time we agree on something we’ll probably be hungry.”

“True,” Ray said, shifting to get more comfortable. Geoff propped himself on his arms next to Lindsay and took a sip of his beer.

“Pizza’s always good,” he offered.

“We’ve had that, like, five times this week,” Michael said, making a face. “How about Chinese? We haven’t tried that Jade Lotus place yet.”

The seven of them bickered for a while and, as predicted, finally sorted it out just as their stomachs started to growl.

Ryan sat back from his laptop with a sigh. “So that’s two orange chicken, a large house lo mein, one shrimp in lobster sauce, one spicy beef and broccoli, one combo number three, one combo number eight, four sides of rice, and six orders of steamed dumplings. Have we got all that right?”

Everyone confirmed their choices, and the order was submitted. While waiting for it to arrive they cuddled in a lazy pile, half-watching the inane reality show that was splashed across the TV. When the food came at last they attacked it with gusto, and afterwards lay around some more in overstuffed satisfaction.

“That Maze Bank job isn’t until next Sunday, yeah?” asked Gavin, voice heavy with a suppressed yawn. Ryan’s hands petting through his hair were not helping him stay awake.

“Mm-hmm,” murmured Geoff with his head in Jack’s lap. She idly traced his neck tattoos with one gentle finger; Ray leaned on her shoulder, nearly asleep.

“We oughta figure out who’s in which bed tonight,” Michael sighed, stroking Lindsay’s face where it rested on his thigh. She exhaled the shadow of a laugh.

“Can’t wait for that new mattress.”

“To be fair, even when we’ve got it, we’ll still probably argue about who’s next to who,” Ryan said. That scored him quiet laughs from everyone still mostly awake.

“Well, I wanna be with you and Micoo,” Gavin declared, looking up at him.

“Wanna come with us, babe?” Michael asked, tucking a lock of Lindsay’s auburn hair behind her ear. She nodded sleepily.

“That settles that,” Jack said, cupping Geoff’s cheek with one hand and Ray’s with the other. “But I might need your help dragging these two into our room.”

“’m awake,” protested Geoff unconvincingly.

“We all gotta brush our teeth and shit anyway,” Ray muttered, the first sound he’d made in a while. The others groaned.

“Let’s get that over with, then,” Lindsay sighed, and heaved herself off the floor.

An advantage to being the richest fucks in Los Santos was the ability to have everything built to their own peculiar specifications. Seven bathrooms made quick work of their evening necessities, and one massive room housed two king-size beds – just barely enough for all of them to fit. Each was heaped with blankets that in no way resembled properly made linens; the crew split into their chosen groups and burrowed cozily under them.

“G’night, dickheads.”

“G’night, Geoff,” the others chorused.

Tangled comfortably around each other, the most feared gang in Los Santos slept.


End file.
